


The Stonedlight Archive: Book 1: The Weed of Kings

by Dhalagirl



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson, The Crow (Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 01: The Way of Kings, Book 02: Words of Radiance Spoilers, Book 03: Oathbringer Spoilers, Gen, Marijuana, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhalagirl/pseuds/Dhalagirl
Summary: In this chapter Szeth-son-son-Vallano is sent to assassinate King Gavilar Kholin. There are spoilers for later books as I combine some bits of canon for a slightly more unified view of the events of that night.
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is very alternate universe. Instead of Stormlight the magic system is fueled by Marajuana smoke so many of the characters in this are high. I've also taken some of the characters and dialed up certain personality aspects up to eleven for the sake of amusement. There is adult humor and graphic violence in some of the chapters so please be mindful of the rating. If this were a movie it would be PG-13. I also break the fourth wall for kicks and giggles so don't be surprised that there are popular culture references that no one on Roshar should know about.

The Stonedlight Chronicles:

The Weed of Kings

Prologue

By

Dhalagirl

_This should be good for a laugh._

Szeth-Son-Son-Vallano, Nugless of Shinovar, leaned against the wall of a small vacant storage room in the bowels of the Alethi palace. The room was light by a single flickering taper on the rickety Soulcast wood table in the center.

My current master, a Parshendi male whose name I still didn’t know, stood next to the table with his cohorts. They commandeered this space to “put me to work” which at first got me really excited because I haven’t gotten any since that quickie in the back of a storm shelter in Jah Kaved. What they were actually doing was getting higher than the Stormdude. Granted, when I’m involved they’re one and the same so I couldn’t hate them for misleading me.

The leaders back home in Shin were astonishingly creative, perhaps even sadistic, when creating the terms for my nugless existence. Instead of making something innate like a stone my control item, my master had to partake of the hash in the Oathpot that I’m bound to in order to command me. Smoking or ingesting the custom blend gave my master a sweet euphoric high that removed any guilt any decent person might have felt about ordering me to kill another being while it passed on to me the mental clarity and creativity that made me better at executing those commands.

It storming sucks that I can’t get a complete high. It’s like giving a drunkard in withdrawals a flask of violet wine and telling them they can only smell it. At least I got the satisfaction of watching noobs try to figure out how to light up. Unless specifically commanded to do so, I’m under no obligation to instruct my master in the ways of weed. That means I got to watch clueless easterners try to puzzle out why they weren’t getting anything from their overloaded bowl or why their loosely rolled joint wouldn’t hold together. It was the little things in life that mattered now. Well, that and searching my victims’ pockets for loose spheres…and any jewelry they might be wearing…and taking their clothes if we’re the same size.

What? Getting passed around from master to master like a two chip hooker makes it impossible to hold down a steady job and there aren’t any unemployment agencies here. I’ve got to support myself somehow. Besides, since I keep getting shuttled around from city to city I have to find fourteen old blind ladies with coke sweats to be my roomies. While the prospect of having a salty geriatric in every port had its appeal, screening applicants via spanreed did not.

I took a step to the right so I could have a better view of what the noobs were up to. The Parshendi were arguing about which end of the pipe the hash should be inserted into. Ha! That’s a new one. Something tells me they rode the short chull to school. Unfortunately it also quickly got boring.

I pulled out my Honorblade and used the tip to carve into the stone floor the image of a man in a skintight black and red uniform that covered his entire body riding a Rashadium stallion with a spiral horn growing out of its forehead. I was etching the handle of the sword strapped to the figure’s back when a telltale sensation washed over me – clarity and hyperfocus.

I looked back to the Parshendi. They’d finally figured out which end of the pipe to load but they packed it too loosely. It burned up in an instant. That was why I felt the effects so quickly.

My master jerked the pipe from his lips as a fierce coughing fit made him double over. Smoke burst from his lips in a large puff. The curling, snakelike bodies of Smokespren emerged from the dissipating cloud, lingered a moment, then disappeared. The air in this room was too clear for them to be visible any longer then that.

My master’s compatriots drew closer to him, their faces filled with concern while he attempted to cough up a lung. I inhaled the delightful herbaceous aroma that was tinged with the acrid tang of axehound piss that wafted across the room.

_Ahhhh….smells like mother’s cooking._

Master’s coughing subsided a minute later. He leaned on the table, the smoldering pipe still in his hand, and took a few wheezing breaths. He looked up and locked eyes with me in an intimate, almost lover-like way.

“Talk dirty to me.”

Master’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You are to kill King Gavalar Kholin.”

“Wow! No foreplay, just straight to funzies. I’m impressed!” I turned to one of his compatriots. “To be honest, I didn’t think he had it in him.”

The Parshendi next to him took the pipe and candle from his hands. They reloaded the pipe, lit it, and took a smaller pull on it. “You are to make it public. Be seen.” Tendrils of smoke leaked out of their mouth with each word. Their voice cracked but they managed not to cough. Someone’s a fast learner.

The next in the circle took the pipe and took a small pull as well. “You will wear all white, the color of a killer among our people.”

“Storms! Are you done yet? This is an assassination! Not a gang bang!”

All of them gaped at him in shock.

“I walk up to people and stab them with a huge sword.” I summoned my honorblade. Ten heartbeats later it materialized in my hand and I brandished it before them. They shied back from its slender, curved length. “Okay, so maybe it’s not huge but size isn’t everything…and some people like it curved.”

The messenger of the group squeaked. It would have been better if she’d blushed too but it was hard to tell with all of that mottling. How is anyone supposed to tell if their skin has changed color when it’s already fifty shades of rock?

“The point is,” I thrust the blade forward into empty air, “stabby, stabby they’re dead. If you want someone who’s going to follow a bunch of lame ass rules I know a guy in Azir with buns of steel who gets hard just at the mention of rules.”

None of them spoke. Either they were already stoned out of their minds or they’d suddenly forgotten how to speak Alethi.

“Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

The group nodded.

“Is anyone else going to join this verbal ménage a quatre?”

They shook their heads.

I dismissed my Honorblade and walked out of the slightly hazy room before they changed their minds. Or got the munchies. I wouldn’t be surprised if this lot ordered me to bring them three hundred chouta. They were probably lousy tippers.

__________________________

Several hours later I walked down the labyrinthine hallways that led to the king’s quarters. Sconces with spheres infused with Stonedlight lit the network of hallways. The musicians in the banquet hall, where my masters were, had cranked it up to eleven. I could hear them loud and clear even though I was floors above them. It figured that my new masters would make me work while they partied with the Highlords and ladies.

I turned a corner and found two guardsmen blocking my path. They wore breastplates and helms that were painted red – my favorite color.

“Someone wasn’t listening to the queen’s order. You were supposed to paint the roses red.”

The two darkeyed guardsmen exchanged confused looks.

“What are roses?”

I shook my head. If there was one thing I hated more than being the token white guy it was illiteracy. At least they were smart enough to wear brown pants today.

I summoned my Honorblade as I slowly walked toward them.

“As much as I love playing the naughty schoolteacher,” I quickly sucked in the Stonedlight from the nearby sconces as my Honorblade materialized in my right hand. The tempestuous energy filled my veins. Colors became brighter, sounds sharper and louder. Stonedlight by itself wasn’t enough to get anyone high – or at least not as high as I wanted to be. But the combination of Stonedlight and affects from my Oathpot were a heady mix. My body was eager to run and fly while my mind simultaneously calculated the angles and force necessary to accomplish it.

I used the Stonedlight to lash myself to the wall behind them. It pulled me forward at a fast clip. I ran the first guy through the heart, pulling the blade out through his ribs to free it in time for the backswing to pass through the second guard’s neck.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for fun right now.”

I released the lashing and landed five feet behind the guardsmen. I heard two loud thuds behind me as I walked away. Their spears hit the floor a moment later. It all happened so fast that I never saw their eyes burn and smolder. That lashing used most of the meager Stonedlight I’d absorbed from the sconces but a little still remained. Oh, look! More sconces to snack on down the hall!

I skipped to the next pair of sconces. Another guard, this time in an ordinary Kholin blue uniform, spotted me at the intersection. I blew him a kiss and ran through the network of hallways, sucking in the Stonedlight from every sconce I passed on my way to the King’s quarters. The Stonedlight leaped to me and turned the remaining embers from my previous draw into a burning tempest.

“Come and get me boys!” I called over my shoulder. Smoky wisps of Stonedlight seeped from my mouth. It felt like I had an entire hookah bar wafting through my body. I skipped into a storage room nearby and lashed the door shut. I couldn’t be too easy to get. At least not before they bought me an expensive dinner.

The guards tried to break the door down but they weren’t having much success. I looked around the room for anything I could use against them and found nothing. The room was completely empty. Huh. For being such a rich and powerful family, the Kholins sure do have a lot of empty storerooms in their palace. Maybe Queen Navani is really into Konmari?

The guards on the other side continued to pound on it. The wood started to crack and splinter. I used my blade to cut a large square in the wall opposite the door. I stood back and considered it for a moment. It was lacking finesse. I carved a series of random slashes and arcs in the center. There was no risk of them being confused for runes or even part of the Dawnchant. Though if I squinted it kind of looked like I’d carved “Dwayne” into the stone.

I infused the carved square with a large amount of Stonedlight and lashed it in the direction of the door. I took a very large step to the side and watched the massive carved stone fly toward the door. The bottom of the massive stone grated against the floor and created the worst grating screech that I’ve ever heard.

The lashing that held the door shut finally wore out and the guards burst into the storeroom.

Just in time for them to come face to face with “Dwayne”.

The stone hit them like a…well, like a ton of rock. What? I can’t be expected to come up with a brilliant simile every time. Just be glad that I’m better at it than David.

My impromptu graffiti caused the stone to break apart on impact but the pieces continued to travel forward. If a guard happened to be in the rock’s way then they got taken along for the ride. The lashed rock carried them through the door and into the hallway where they were crushed against the wall. Their screams, groans, oofs, and the sickening crack of their bones could be heard above the shattering of the stone. Gritty dust filled the air, making me cough. I tried to wave the dust away as I walked through the hole I’d created. I didn’t have any idea what laid on the other side of the wall I’d cut through but finding out was a better option than climbing through the mound of broken stone, guards, and door behind me.

On the other side of the hole was another hallway lit with infused gems that ended with an ornate closed door. _Jackpot!_ I drank in the Stonedlight and walked through the hall that was now only lit by the thin wisps of swirling Stonedlight that seeped from my nostrils and the fearspren that wriggled through the closed door. I kicked open the heavy door and stepped into the final corridor that led to the king’s chambers. _This is a convenient twist of architecture._

The first pair of guards must have decorated this hallway too because everything was red. The large bulbous vases along the walls and long rug that ran down the center were all red. There were guards stationed between each of the vases. Those furthest back drew their swords and fell into a V formation to guard the door to the king’s chamber. The pair nearest me, spearmen, attacked me right away. No salutation or even a “halt, fiend!” How rude!

_Oh well. These corpses aren’t going to make themselves_.

The spearmen charged me. I slammed my hand against the door and infused it with enough Stonedlight for a reverse lashing. The lashing yanked the spears from their hands, pulling the spearheads to the door.

I sidestepped the spears as they flew past me and ran up the wall to my right, lashing my feet to the ceiling. I used a light lashing to attach the nearest vase to my hand on the way. I ran straight up so that I stood inverted directly above the spearmen. They gaped at me. I thrust my blade through the skull of the one on the right while they were distracted. Their eyes burned and wisps of smoke seeped from the twin cavities where their eyes were seconds ago. That snapped the second out of it long enough to raise his belt knife – the only weapon he had left – and swipe it through the air between us.

I withdrew my blade from his partner’s skull. His body fell to the floor. I momentarily released the lashing on the vase so I could invert it so that the bottom faced me. After I quickly relashed it I positioned it above the living spearman’s head and released the lashing. Gravity propelled the vase down onto the spearman. I pierced the bottom with my blade before it fell out of reach. I released the lashing that bound me to the ceiling and kept pushing my blade into the vase until it was fully inserted. The vase continued to fall, mouth first, only now it fell with me riding it down like a greased whitespine.

“Glory Hole!”

I couldn’t see the expression on the spearman’s face, which was a shame, because the vase encased him to his knees while my hidden blade slid into his body with that perfect gravity fueled thrust.

Unfortunately my landing wasn’t so perfect. I slid off the vase and fell to the floor. Somehow I managed to keep my hold on my Honorblade. The mouth of the vase to met the floor a moment later with a soft thump. I scrambled to my feet. There was a weird scraping sound coming from inside the vase. It took me a moment to realize that it was the second spearman’s lifeless body sliding down as much as the vase would allow.

I freed the Honorblade from the vase. Smoke from the spearman’s corpse rose from the slit. Even though I hadn’t used much for those lashings less Stonedlight leaked from my nostrils than before. I sucked in the light from the sconces near the door. Shadows descended on that end of the hallway to shroud the dead spearman at my feet.

The other guards started to panic. They shouted and banged on the chamber door for backup and their swords shook in their hands. One even made a puddle on the carpet. The number of fearspren that crawled on the floor tripled.

It was too bad that this Honorblade didn’t have a twin. This would have been the perfect time to dualwield. That would have been impressive. Instead I settled for charging the frightened group. I slashed through the forearm of the guard on point. His short sword fell from his lifeless hand. I caught it by the hilt with my free hand. The guard screamed and clutched his dead limb to his chest. That must have been some sort of cue because they all came at me at once.

I lashed myself to the ceiling again, flipping as I rose so my feet touched stone. Having seen the trick once already the guards adapted quickly. They thrust and slashed upward. I used the steel in my left hand to fend off the blades while I pierced whatever flesh I could reach with my right.

It was like watching a virus of flaccidity spread above, or rather below me. One by one arms would fall to their sides and swords would fall from hands that were no longer able to hold them. The soldiers, who were more or less still in a V formation, stood there unsure of what to do but also not willing to surrender. When the last weapon fell I ran down the nearest wall far enough to release the lashing and land on my feet. I crossed both swords in front of me and slashed them outward. Both blades glinted in the remaining light. The Honorblade cut cleanly through the necks of the guards at the center and right of the formation. Their eyes turned to charcoal as they collapsed on the rug. The guards on the left weren’t so lucky. I forgot that there was a steel blade in that hand. The edge sliced their throats but couldn’t cut deeply enough to completely dispatch them.

“Gak! What have I done?”

The guard nearest the front of the V fell to the floor. He got the brunt of the cut so it was fatal enough that he had a fairly quick death. The last one at the back though was mortally wounded but far from dead. Blood sprayed everywhere. The red floor runner soaked up and concealed most of it but it still looked like a Stephen King version of a Jackson Pollock.

“Oh, Storms! I’m so sorry!”

The poor guy didn’t have functional arms anymore so he couldn’t attempt to stem the bleeding. I ran to him so I could dispatch him but he backpedaled until his back hit the wall. I quickly used my Honorblade to put him out of his – and my – misery.

The door to the king’s chamber flew open. A squad of soldiers in blue uniforms rushed into the hallway with their swords drawn. They surrounded a hunched over man in regal robes. The men in the front weren’t expecting the carpet and stone floor to be slippery. They quickly lost their balance and fell to the floor. Some fell with such ineptitude that they actually fell on their swords while others fell so hard that I heard bones break when they landed. The poor sod in the middle tripped over them, which caused those at his back to fall on top of him. I scrambled up the wall and lashed myself to the ceiling again just to get out of their way.

The rear guard scrambled to their feet, and helped the robed man stand. They quickly regrouped and trotted down the hall. When they reached dry floor they broke out into a run, dodging the upside down vase and the fallen spearman’s body. They didn’t give their fallen brothers a second glance.

“That has got to be the worst diversion I’ve ever seen.”

I walked down the wall to a clean section of bare floor. When my feet touched bare floor I released the lashing and walked into the king’s quarters.

The king’s quarters were large. I mean obscenely large. The large four-post bed only took up a small portion of the room. The rest had cozy seating areas, end tables, and an enormous fireplace. You could fit an entire crack house in this room!

It almost smelled like one too. The air was slightly hazy. Smokespren lazily drifted on the curling ribbons of fumes drifting about the room. Unlike the hash in my pot the prevailing scent in the air was more sharp and herbaceous. There was hardly any ammonia at all.

Szeth heard a cough in the dark recesses near the balcony. His Stonedlight enhanced sight made it easy to see the man in Shardplate sitting on a stool. The gauntlets were next to him on the bedside table next to a pitcher and a porcelain cup.

“Oh, is it time to charge?” the armored man asked. “I thought there was still enough time for a quick toke.” He took a deep pull on the smoldering joint and held the smoke in for several seconds before releasing it in a long thin stream. Suddenly his shoulders tensed and he sat up as straight and stiff as a board. “Are you an Ardent?” His voice was huskier from the smoke. “You have to tell me if you’re an Ardent!”

“Chill, man. I’m not an Ardent.”

The armored man sagged in relief. The plates clinked as he slouched on the stool.

“You cool?”

The armored man nodded. He offered me the smoldering nub.

I waved it off. “No thanks. I’m about as high as I’m going to get. I would like some water if you’ve got some. I’ve got a major case of dry mouth.”

He gestured to the pitcher and cup on the side table. I walked over and helped myself. I gulped down one glass and poured myself another. Killing soldiers works up quite a thirst. I sipped on my second cup while the armored man finished the blunt. He extinguished the last bit against the table.

“Thanks for the drink. You know, you’re not the callous bastard everyone said you were.”

“What?”

I sat down on the bed, cup in my left hand, Honorblade in my right. “Yeah,” I sipped some water. “Word is that you’re a manipulative and devious megalomaniac who is bent on starting the next Desolation.” I chuckled. He laughed too but it was weak and forced.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The fumes have gone to your brain.”

“Nope. I’m as clear headed as can be. But all that stuff I said about you is why I’ve been sent here to kill you, your majesty. My masters don’t want to enable the destruction of a planet.”

I drank the rest of the water in one swallow. “If it weren’t for that we could be friends. Especially since you have good taste in buds. Is that Reshi Kush?”

Gavilar stood, put on his gauntlets, and summoned his Shardblade. Dew drops fell to the floor when it manifested in his hands. I finished off my water and threw the cup against the wall. It shattered against the stone.

I stood and raised my blade. The tips of our swords touched. His sword was much larger but mine was more…elegant? Yeah, lets go with that. I raised my gaze to meet his so I wouldn’t be as intimidated by his size.

Gavilar charged. I ducked below his arms and ran for a more open part of the room. This was not the time to get pinned on the bed.

It wasn’t often that I had to kill a man in full Shardplate. That posed an interesting challenge. But a hardened soldier in plate wasn’t that different from a Chasmfiend – crack open the shell to access the prize inside. All I had to do was accomplish that without dying first and before his guards realized that I didn’t fall for their ruse.

No problem.

Just kidding. I was weeping inside. _I’m going to get pounded into crem!_

Gavilar swung his blade low, probably to cut through my legs. I lashed myself to the ceiling. I landed on all fours and barely managed to hang on to my blade. I looked down at Gavilar in time to see him thrust upward. I scrambled sideways, barely dodging his blade. Gavilar pulled back and moved beneath me to thrust again. I pushed off the ceiling at a diagonal and released the lashing. I flipped in midair and landed on an opulent chair. The carved wood was gilded and the padded seat cushioned my landing.

I lashed the chair to the wall behind Gavilar. I kicked off to give the chair a little extra momentum. It hit Gavilar hard enough to make him stagger but it didn’t do much damage to his Shardplate. I ran around the room and lashed everything I could. Tables, chairs, area rugs, even the couch went sailing through the air at high speeds and all of it aimed at Gavilar.

Gavilar swung his blade in an effortless series of forms that were beautiful to watch. Or they would have been if a room full of furniture weren’t hitting him. Every pass of the blade nearly missed every piece of furniture except one. The couch. The last form ended with a big downward strike. Gavilar brought his blade down at the exact moment that the couch was within reach. The blade split the couch in two. The halves crashed onto the floor, splintering the wood frame. The stuffing puffed out creating a mushroom cloud of fluff. Gavilar laughed till he had to clutch his side.

Yep. Still a _high_ lord.

I charged him, my blade sliced through the air like a ribbon of light. I aimed for the seams and gaps between plates hoping that I could land a lucky blow. Gavilar deftly blocked each strike, forcing me to counter with more force and momentum. I was so focused on landing a hit that I forgot to watch my footing on the broken furniture at our feet. I stumbled on one of the couch halves and pitched forward. Thinking fast I stepped up on the back of the couch and launched myself toward the nearby bed.

I grabbed one of the bedposts, wrapped my left leg around it for stability, and spun around it. Either my momentum going in was more than I thought or the pole was as smooth as my scalp because instead of a quick spin to turn me back in the king’s direction I kept spinning. I kept my sword hand extended so I could deflect blows. I also bent my free leg gracefully behind me so the spin would hopefully look intentional. Yeah, I know. An impromptu pole dance in the middle of an assassination attempt was about as convincing as a chicken in a havah…but he was baked enough to not question it.

My momentum gradually slowed. Three small, hard objects hit me in the ribs before clattering to the floor. I looked down. There were three diamond marks on the floor. I wrapped my other leg around the bedpost and clung to it with my thighs, stopping my rotation but keeping me halfway up the bedpost. I arched my back so I could flip upside down and grab the spheres. Three dun diamond chips joined them. I looked up. The king had grabbed a pouch of spheres and was tossing me tips.

“Dude! Stop it! You’re bruising my ribs.” I picked up one of the dun chips and threw it at his head. It hit him squarely on the cheek. “This is why it’s important to have paper currency! What kind of classist moron,” I threw another dun chip at him, hitting him on the nose this time, “thinks that glass spheres are the perfect currency,” I threw the final chip which hit him on the forehead, “because strippers love being assaulted?”

Gavilar rubbed his forehead with his offhand. “Ow.”

I picked up the infused marks, sucked in the Stonedlight, and tucked the now dun spheres in my pocket. What? I love tips.

“Wait a second. Where did you get the spheres? Plate doesn’t have pockets?”

“There was a pouch in the wardrobe.” Gavilar pointed to a large wardrobe that I hadn’t noticed earlier. The doors were flung open and white shirt had fallen out in the king’s rush to get to his purse.

In his haste he had also accidentally dismissed his Shardblade.

I planted my hands on the floor for stability and kicked off the bedpost, flipping into a standing position. With my feet back on the floor I quickly righted myself and swung my blade. It struck Gavilar in the side with enough force that it shattered the bottom third of one of his chest plates. Hairline cracks radiated from the broken section and Stonedlight seeped from the ruptures.

I breathed in sharply, absorbing the escaping fuel. The more his armor leaked the more I could absorb. That was a boon that almost leveled the playing field. But the longer this took the more time the guards would have to surround me and end this fight before I could end him. That meant I had to kill him fast!

Gavilar extended his hand to summon his Shardblade. Instead of doing the honorable thing and wait for it to appear I advanced. I sliced and thrust my more nimble blade, striking every inch that I could. My relentless attack forced Gavilar to retreat. I continued my onslaught, cracking the chest plate further, as well as his helmet, grieves, whatever was open for a strike. My breathing became ragged from the effort but each strike drove him closer to my objective – the open door to the balcony.

It wasn’t until the cool night air touched his face that Gavilar realized what I’d done. He started using his gauntleted hands and even his forearms to block and deflect some of my blows.

With my freehand I pushed the balcony door closed and applied a light lashing to keep it shut. I needed Gavilar to stay here. If he made it back inside it was all over for me.

A tempest of Stonedlight raged in my veins thanks to the many cracks and fractures in Gavilar’s plate. _It’s time for maximum effort._

I lashed the balcony to the ground below us. The first lashing only made the stone tremble so I added a second, third, and fourth. The stone cracked and the entire balcony sank an inch but didn’t break free. I increased the lashings until there was seven pulling the balcony to the earth. Stonedlight fled my body in a swift rush that made my knees quiver.

The last of the supports gave way. I used some of my remaining Stonedlight to lash myself to the exterior wall of the palace. Gavilar screamed as the balcony fell, taking him with it. It met the ground with a deafening crash. When the dust cleared Gavilar lay motionless on the rubble. Wood supports jutted through the broken stone. One of those supports was embedded in Gavilar’s side. It had found that large break in his chest plate and had struck true.

I walked down the side of the building. My Stonedlight ran out three feet from the wreckage and I had to hop down.

“Nothing personal, man. There’s only one assassin in this whole thing and I’ve got to play my part.”

“Do you have any weed on you? Give a dying man one final blaze of glory?”

“Sorry. I don’t have any on me and your stash is out of reach.”

Gavilar sighed. He reached under his plate, pulled out a black sphere, and handed it to me. “Don’t let them get it.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Gavilar coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, “Tell…my brother…”

I bent close so I could hear his final request over the clamor of guards rushing to our location. I had no idea how I was going to deliver the message. Even I wasn’t crazy enough to walk back into the palace. Too bad there wasn’t something I could write with…

There was blood seeping out of Gavilar’s wound. Hmmm…

I dipped Gavilar’s index finger in his blood and used it like a paintbrush on a large broken board near his body. When I finished there was still a bit of room. I dipped Gavilar’s finger again and added a message of my own.

_P.S. switch to paper currency!_

I dropped Gavilar’s hand. I unfastened the straps of his plate and started searching through his pockets. I found a few diamond marks. Satisfied with my work, I left him and his Shardblade where they lay and walked off into the moonlit night.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emo Kaldin is Emo. He and his squad are fighting in Amaram's army, when mid-battle they spot the ultimate prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains Way of Kings spoilers, violence, a little innuendo, and some silliness.

Chapter 1

Kaladin lay on his cot, with his arms crossed over his chest. The rest of the war camp was filled with chaos and anxiety. They darted around his tent like a windspren that had been set on fire. Inside his tent it was as still and dark as a grave.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Soon all of this will be ashes and rust, he silently chanted. All except for me, being at peace is an impossibility.

The tent flap opened, admitting a shaft of light. Kaladin hissed at the light and at the rude person who created the opening in the first place.

“Sorry, kid,” Dallet said. “We’ve been called to the assembly field. We’ve a rebel army to put down.”

“Just leave me here to die. I’m useless.”

Dallet opened the tent flap wide and tied it open. Kaladin scrambled off of the cot and huddled in the corner. He shielded his eyes with his hand, fingers clawing the air.

“Up and at ‘em, kid. It’s a beautiful day for pointless slaughter.”

“Even more reason for me to go to an early grave. This way hurts less.”

“That’s debatable.”

Hmm…he may have a point. Death by ennui and despair might not have been the best idea. “More stylish then.”

“That’s also debatable.”

Kaladin gasped. He stood up so Dallet could appreciate his ensemble. Instead of the brown jerkin and trousers that the rest of the spearmen wore, his jerkin was black leather with the white knotted cords of a squadleader at his shoulder. His trousers were black linen. It took him weeks to find a pair dark enough to match the vest.

“This is the physical manifestation of my inner turmoil. Its dark beauty is a holy representation of Talenelat’Elin at the height of his suffering.”

“Wow! That escalated fast. You went from sulking teenager to blasphemer in three seconds.” He pointed to the open flap. “Go burn three apologetic glyphwards right now.”

Kaladin glared at him. “Who died and made you an Ardent?” He walked back to his cot and lay down. “If you don’t have anything important to say I’m going to go back to letting the weight of my failure crush me to death.”

“Oh, that’s right! I did come here with a message. It’s really not that important. Just that the scouts’ say there’s a Shardbearer among the enemy forces.”

Kaladin was on his feet so fast that Dallet leaped back and fell into a defensive stance. After a moment or two Dallet relaxed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Kaladin went over to his bedside table and picked up a small hand mirror. The thick line of kohl around his brown eyes was a little smudged but it didn’t need to be touched up. In fact, the smudges made him look more haunted. He may have to do that deliberately in the future.

“Has this been verified?” Kaladin picked up a stick of kohl and used it to color his lips. Dallet didn’t answer. Kaladin paused when he finished the black outline of his lips. “Dallet?”

Dallet stood there with his jaw hanging open. “This is the most fascinating and disturbing thing I’ve ever witnessed. I’m not sure whether to vomit or applaud.”

“Your support warms my cold, dead heart.”

Kaladin finished coloring in his lips before grabbing his shield and putting it on his back. He grabbed two sheathed knives and tightly strapped their sheathes to the shaft of his spear. Lastly he grabbed a pair of black leather fingerless gloves and tucked them in his pocket with his sphere pouch.

Kaladin picked up his spear and left the tent. Dallet was at his heels. They passed through the main hub of the camp on their way to the assembly grounds. Kaladin spotted several squad leaders huddled around Gare. Purple fearspren wriggled on the ground. Kaladin’s pace slowed.

Dallet sighed. “Here we go again.”

Kaladin put his arm around Dallet’s shoulders and forced him to come along for the ride. “Admit it. You like this.”

“Yeah, I just love training snot-nosed kids who piss themselves at the first sign of conflict.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“No, you didn’t and look how you turned out.”

Kaladin smiled and released the grizzled old soldier. He gently nudged his way to the front of the squadleaders. A few gave him an odd look but that was probably because of his appearance and not any perceived slight.

Gare was in charge of assigning the new arrivals to their permanent squads. He had an unusual penchant for sending the most promising recruits to the squads with the highest death counts. Perhaps he thought he was doing those squads a favor but the death toll said otherwise.

Kaladin scanned the recruits. They were lined up and stood at attention, or at least as close to attention as their nerves would allow. Most of them couldn’t have been more than fifteen. The left side of the line had already been assigned, which was fine with him because it was a scrawny black haired kid at the end with a haunted look in his eyes that held his attention.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dallet asked.

“He has a better chance with us than with anyone else.”

“I know that but you can’t keep your eyes on him and the Shardbearer at the same time.”

“I don’t have to.”

Dallet groaned. Kaladin ignored him and stepped forward.

“I’ll take the one on the end,” Kaladin said.

“You don’t get to choose who goes where,” Gare said in a gruff voice.

Kaladin twirled a strand of his wavy black hair around his fingers. “That’s not what you said last night.”

The squadleaders laughed and hooted but Gare didn’t find it so amusing. Angerspren boiled at his feet.

“Let me take the kid and I’ll go away.”

Gare grumbled a few curses that surprised the recruits nearest him. He waved to the kid Kaladin singled out. The kid sheepishly walked over to them.

“What’s your name?” Kaladin asked.

“Cenn,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re with us, Cenn.” Kaladin nodded thanks to Gare and guided Cenn through the squadleaders to where Dallet waited. Dallet shook his head when they approached.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have to pay a substantial bribe to get him.”

“I may not have paid spheres,” Kaladin said. “But I still paid dearly.”

“Nonsense. You don’t have any dignity left. Just look at how you’re dressed!”

Kaladin glared at him. Dallet laughed and fell back a few steps to start coaching Cenn. Kaladin would have preferred to give him a few days to acclimate to the squad and how he ran things but there wasn’t time. But what he told Dallet earlier was still true. Even with these less than ideal circumstances Cenn’s chances of survival were much higher than they would be in any other squad. His squad’s training made them far better at looking after each other than any other in Amaram’s army.

They made their way through the warcamp to the assembly grounds which were beside the field they were to do battle in. Kaladin found his men gathered at the front of the assembly field, clumped together in a loose formation, with their spears at the ready and shields strapped to their backs. Kaladin studied the field as he approached his men. The field wasn’t the best but they’d fought in worse. It was mostly flat. On the right side was a small hill that wouldn’t be too hard to defend in a basic formation. On the opposite end of the battlefield was a small depression by some boulders. They could spread out on the boulders – the greater height difference would make it easier to take out enemy spearmen – but the uneven footing may cause problems.

“You get a look at the field?”

Dallet nodded. “You want the high ground or the divot by the boulders?”

“The high ground.”

“I figured you’d say that. You’ve never liked being between a rock and a hard place.”

Kaladin gave him some side eye. Horns rang out from the far side of the field. Today’s enemy was already advancing. Kaladin glanced over at the kid. A trickle of urine slid down his bare legs. Maybe he shouldn’t form an attachment just yet.

“Watch the kid, will ya?”

“Sure, honey. I’ll watch the baby while you go have fun with the boys.”

The men didn’t bother to muffle their laughter, which was fine. Kaladin couldn’t help laughing too. He put down his spear, leaning it against his body for a few minutes, so he could put his gloves on. He flexed his fingers to make sure they fully on before taking up his spear again.

Dallet fell back into ranks and nudged the kid into the formation, right beside him. “Ready, men!”

Kaladin took his preferred place in front of the squad. None of the other squadleaders did that. Of course, the others weren’t as eager for their miserable existence to be brought to an end. Ironically they were better at getting killed than Kaladin and his squad. It really sucked being Stormblessed.

“Steady, men.” Dallet called out. He then leaned down and spoke softy to Cenn. “Pay him no mind,” Dallet whispered. “Captain Kaladin may be stranger than a drunk Azish, but his heart is in the right place.”

The kid sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

“I on the other hand,” Dallet said louder, “am a mean old cuss with no patience for a greenie. So you better pay attention and obey every command or I’ll kick you so hard you can wave to the Stormfather on your way back down.”

The rest of the squad laughed. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of Kaladin’s mouth. He quickly smothered it. This wasn’t the time for joviality. He needed to focus. Somewhere in the mass of soldiers and officers across the field was a Shardbearer. It might even be the Shardbearer that killed Tien. If he could avenge his little brother’s death than maybe he could rest in peace. It wouldn’t be enough to allow Kaladin to forgive himself but out of the two of them, Tien was the kinder one and he deserved to rest in peace.

Adrenaline started to flow through his veins. He shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet, ready to run. The others were getting anxious as well. The shuffling of feet, slapping of shields, and an array of grunts and murmurs sounded up and down the line. Commands to hold the line echoed across the ranks.

A lighteyed officer rode before the frontline. “I want their blood! Make them feel our might!”

Kaladin snorted. It would be nice if they specified whose blood they were after. Too often it was their own that they received in plenty. Too much innocent blood.

A horn blared behind them. “Go!” Dallet commanded.

Every squad started marching. Most of them moved a light steady pace so they could save their energy for the battle. Of course the anticipation and Thrill got the best of some, causing them to break ranks and run ahead of the rest of the army. That was the real cue Kaladin waited for.

Kaladin and his squad sprinted across the field, heading for the small hill that he and Dallet agreed upon. The sky momentarily darkened as the enemy archers’ first volley sailed over their heads and struck the bulk of Amaram’s forces, a good distance behind them. Moments later a volley from Amaram’s archers sailed over the army and struck the front ranks. Some fell and some clutched their wounds.

Kaladin continued leading their charge to the hill. They left their shields on their backs and left the rest of the army in the dust. When Kaladin reached it he skidded to a halt. The squad did the same a moment later and took up their standard wedge formation with him at the point. They brought their shields around and their spears at the ready. They stood there and caught their breath while the enemy approached. In his periphery, Kaladin saw Dallet nudge the kid into the center of the formation where he’d be safest.

Even though the kid had gone through the same basic training as the rest of them nothing could prepare someone for being face to face with a man intent on killing. The terror that rose in response from their war cries and shouts, the clamor of steel and wood clashing all around, the stench of blood and sweat, the disorienting head-on view of a spear or sword thrust… No kata or drill could steel you against all of your senses being barraged simultaneously.

The squads that fell behind Kaladin’s had finally caught up to them. They clashed against the advancing tide of the enemy below them. Three-dozen enemy spearmen in a grouping that could barely be called a formation charged their hill. Whether they wanted the high ground or were just out for blood hardly mattered. Kaladin was two hundred pounds of anger and guilt, and he was ready to unleash is all on anyone that stood between him and redemption.

The enemy’s fierce shouts struck them seconds before their spears came within striking distance of Kaladin’s line but they were ready. Enemy spears fell upon a line of shields. Kaladin blocked the spear meant for him and thrust his spear into the belly of his attacker. He twisted the spear before he wrenched it free.

The enemy squad pulled back. Two of their compatriots, including the one Kaladin had attacked were dead on the ground. All of Kaladin’s squad stood firm. No one had fallen – though one, Kaladin didn’t turn away from the enemy to see who, fell back so they could bandage a minor wound. His squad rotated a man into the empty slot to give their injured compatriot the time they needed.

The enemy advanced again with a worse result. This time when they pulled back a third of their force lay on the field while all of Kaladin’s still stood. The enemy withdrew and sought easier prey in the miasmal chaos below.

While lines broke beyond repair on the plain, here on this little hill little changed for them. Kaladin and his squad defended their small hill. The squads that approached them either died or retreated. Every so often the enemy’s advance forced Kaladin to signal a formation change which kept it from being boring. A few more squad members were injured, but like the first it wasn’t serious.

This cycle continued. Every so often Kaladin would break rank to attack a particular foe more aggressively. It wasn’t to show off. It was more so he could get a better angle on the battlefield so he could monitor the progress, or lack thereof.

It wasn’t going well. As soon as the last enemy soldier from the latest group fell Kaladin banged his spear on his shield, the rhythm signaling a drastic change of plan. One of the officer lines was breaking and a large enemy squad had noticed. They rushed to the broken line in large clusters, like pain spren sensing a klutz.

Kaladin raced down the hill and across the battlefield with his squad on his heels. He deftly leaped over the fallen of both armies. He tried to only breathe through his mouth so the stomach-churning funk of viscera didn’t make him vomit. His heart pounded and tingles ran up the back of his neck as the fear rose – fear that they might not reach them in time.

That fear quickly turned to shame and horror as the line broke and men died before his eyes. One of the enemy groups that were charging the broken line spotted Kaladin’s squad and veered to intercept them. Kaladin signaled a halt. He banged it out harder than the earlier signal so it would be loud enough for his men to hear it above the din.

Kaladin didn’t have time to survey the ground they were on. No sooner had they stopped they clashed against the enemy ranks. This fight wasn’t the orderly exchanges they had on the hill. Shields creaked under the strain and spears were thrust into every opening, whether the angle was good or not. It was rough and messy and infuriating and exhilarating.

This group didn’t break off when their compatriots started falling. They were too enthralled by the Thrill to break off now. Kaladin could see the unbridled rage in their dark eyes.

A sharp, high-pitched cry caught Kaladin’s attention. He pulled his spear free of the enemy soldier he’d just stabbed in the heart with surgical precision and quickly did a headcount of his squad. All but one was accounted for.

Where’s Cenn?

Kaladin spotted him nearby. He’d been separated from the rest of the squad and had promptly gotten himself into trouble. Six enemy soldiers stood in front of him and the point man’s spear was embedded in Cenn’s thigh.

“Dallet!” Kaladin shouted as he dashed off. Dallet didn’t follow. He took up Kaladin’s place so the rest of the squad wouldn’t suffer for his absence.

Kaladin ran so fast his feet barely touched the ground. The point man jerked his spear free and raised it for a finishing strike. Kaladin used the blood slick rock beneath his feet to slide the remaining distance.

Crouching low as he slid between the kid and point man. He transferred his spear to his left hand, tucked behind his shield. Kaladin used his shield to knock the point man’s spear aside. The point man took a step back, shocked to suddenly see a full size opponent painted like a Voidbringer standing before him.

Kaladin hooked the shaft of his spear behind the point man’s knees and pulled hard, knocking the man to the ground. He slipped one of the knives strapped to his spear free of its sheath. The moment the point man’s back hit the stone, knocking the wind out of him, Kaladin plunged the long knife underneath the man’s ribs and straight into his heart.

The entire exchange was over so quick that the other five and Cenn could only stare at him in shock. Kaladin bared his teeth at the enemy quintet. He removed the knife from the point man’s chest, and wiped the blood off the blade on the man’s uniform. Kaladin flipped it around so he could grab the blade’s long pointed tip. He threw the knife at the second soldier. It sailed through the air and struck home in the soldier’s thigh. He fell to his knees howling.

Kaladin threw his remaining knife at the fourth. It plunged into the man’s eye. Kaladin leaped at the third. He tossed the spear back to his right hand and plunged it into the third soldier’s gut. Kaladin used his shield to help extricate the spear from the third. He spun backward, slashing the point through the air.

The fifth soldier leaned out of the spear’s reach. Kaladin lunged and thrust the butt of the spear into the throat of the fifth, crushing the man’s windpipe. He used the recoil to thrust the point into the throat of the fourth.

Kaladin pulled out his spear. The spear blurred around him as he spun it around him, blocking and striking the remaining upright foes. His body flowed into a seamless dance, bending and spinning with ease. The rhythm of his blows dictated the pace, creating a percussive song that took out the last two standing.

Kaladin knelt by Cenn and put down his spear. He pulled a bandage out of his pocket and bound Cenn’s wound.

“Sir!” The kid pointed behind Kaladin.

Kaladin turned in time to see Dallet smash in the skull of the soldier with Kaladin’s knife in his thigh.

“Took you long enough,” Kaladin said.

Dallet retrieved Kaladin’s knives and handed them back to him. Kaladin wiped them off on a dead man’s uniform before sheathing the blades. He surveyed the field. Amaram’s forces had finally pulled it together and were rallying near the boulders.

A lighteyed officer in ordinary full plate, riding a white horse rode through Amaram’s ranks. He used a spiked mace to smash in the skulls of every soldier and officer he rode past. Something about the slivery sheen of his armor tugged on Kaladin’s memory. Could that be him? Was that the man who killed Cenn? He was definitely one of Hallaw’s officers. Of that Kaladin was sure.

“It’s not too late, you know,” Dallet said in his ear. “It may not be the same man.”

“Korator, Cyn, go back to camp with Cenn. Those gashes aren’t going to stop bleeding if you keep pushing yourselves like that.”

“Avoiding the question isn’t going to work,” Dallet said.

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Kaladin beat the signal for a pincer formation on his shield. The men, all except for Dallet, fell into position. Dallet walked around the formation and stood in front of Kaladin.

“Then I’ll say it more plainly so it sinks through the crem in your skull. You don’t have to do this. Revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“I know.”

Dallet was taken aback. Kaladin put a hand on his shoulder.

“None of this has ever been about me.”

Dallet’s head sank. It was hard to tell if he was disappointed in Kaladin or in himself for not figuring it out sooner.

“You don’t have to come. You can go back to camp with the others. Fake a pulled hamstring so they don’t question you.”

Dallet stepped back. Kaladin’s hand fell to his side. His heart twisted in his chest as he watched Dallet move aside and rejoin Cenn, Korator, and Cyn. No one else in the remaining squad moved.

“The same goes for the rest of you,” Kaladin said loud enough for the squad to hear. “We’re going after the battalionlord to avenge someone long dead.”

Kaladin expected at least one of them to ask who they were avenging but none of them did. Dallet already knew of course but most of the squad joined them after Tien’s death. To them he was just the anonymous ghost from Kaladin’s past so why were they willing to run into a possibly fatal situation? Was because they trusted him that much? The thought made him sick. He wasn’t worthy of that kind of trust. Every time someone placed expectations of that magnitude on his shoulders he was never able to follow through – and not for lack of trying. Someone, usually a lighteyes, always barred his way.

Kaladin was afraid to look his men in the eyes, afraid that he’d find confirmation on their faces. He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet their gaze.

On the surface was fatigue, which given how hard they’d fought today wasn’t surprising. They weren’t too tired to be of help. That thought made him feel worse. These were men. Not weapons to be discarded when they broke.

Kaladin forced himself to look deeper. In some of their faces, especially in the younger men, he found the blind trust that he feared but in the others there was a grim determination. They wanted revenge too. Kaladin didn’t know who for. Maybe it was a childhood friend or a drinking buddy. Maybe it was no on in particular. They may have been just as tired as he was of watching battalionlords glory in their slaughter.

It wasn’t enough to assuage his guilt for dragging them into this but at least he couldn’t doubt that they were choosing to follow him of their own free will. They may obey him like a lighteyes but they knew he wasn’t anything like them. For now that would have to be enough.

Kaladin nodded. “Move out!” 

Kaladin led the charge, and charge they did. This wasn’t the sporting run this battle started with. They were a herd of Ryshadium smashing every foe that stood in their way. Their shields smashed spears and broke limbs with an efficiency that shocked their compatriots. It probably would have shocked their foes too but they weren’t conscious and breathing long enough to express that.

As they drew closer it was easier to see their target and his honor guard. The battalionlord wore an open helm with a tall plume that made him look like a chicken. His plate was polished but it still paled in comparison to Shardplate. Glory Spren radiated around his helm. So he’s a holy chicken.

Kaladin and his squad were several feet from the battalionlord when his honor guard noticed their approach and moved into position to engage them. Two subsquads of his men moved forward to intercept them. The honor guard’s swords clashed against his men’s shields. They held off the advance, putting their full attention to blocking enemy blows, while Kaladin and the rest of the squad thrust their spears through the spaces between.

The honor guard was well trained. They kept their torsos out of striking range. Every strike that Kaladin and his men made hit shoulders, arms, and thighs but nothing fatal. This could go on for the rest of the day and they’d get no further if he didn’t do something.

Kaladin stepped back and signaled a formation change for the subsquads. Instead of the pincer pattern they were in before they shifted into a double inverted wedge. Some of the men shifted to their flanks. A few well placed spear thrusts forced the honor guard to compress into the wedges. In the limited space they’d created the honor guard couldn’t move as well which made it easier to get enough fatal strikes in to create a hole in their defenses.

“Go sir,” Toorim, one of the subsquad leaders shouted above the din. “We’ve got this!”

Kaladin withdrew his spear from the chest of the guard he felled. He slipped through a narrow gap that the men formed in the center of their formation. They increased pressure on the honor guard to keep the focus away from Kaladin. Kaladin tucked his spear behind his shield and ran at breakneck speed for the battalionlord.

The battalionlord was facing away from him. He swung his mace, crushing the skull of one of Amaram’s officers. He turned his horse in a half circle, scanning the battlefield for more targets. He found one that just happened to have kohl-stained lips.

Kaladin bared his teeth and charged the battalionlord.

The battalionlord stared at Kaladin in horror. “Gak!” He leaned back in the saddle as far as he could without falling off in order to put more distance between him and Kaladin.

Before the battalionlord could recover, Kaladin threw one of his knives. It pierced the battalionlord in his right eye. The battalionlord fell from the saddle. His horse ran off. Kaladin took up his spear. He stood over the battalionlord, who clutched his face. Kaladin speared him in the throat. Seconds later the battalionlord’s body stilled.

Kaladin’s squad cheered. The honor guard stilled. One by one they looked over their shoulders to find their commander’s lifeless body on the ground. Their captain called a retreat. They didn’t bother to gather their commander’s body before they ran for the safety of their camp.

The squad took up defensive positions around Kaladin while they all caught their breath. Kaladin wiped his brow. They may have to defend this position for a while so someone could come over and confirm the kill. He wasn’t about to let a scheming officer take credit for their hard work.

Kaladin was about to order one of his men to send up a signal when he saw him – a tall man in shining golden armor riding a horse made of midnight. He was a good distance from their position. He rode through Amaram’s advancing forces, swinging an enormous majestic sword like it weighed nothing.

A Shardbearer. Kaladin could hardly believe his eyes!

Dallet’s earlier point about the battalionlord replayed in his mind. He was right. Kaladin didn’t actually see who dealt the deathblow or even who ordered it. If Kaladin was going to be absolutely sure that the men responsible for Tien’s death paid for what they did he’d have to take out every lighteyes in the enemy army.

“Sir!” Toorim shouted.

Kaladin turned around and followed Toorim’s pointed finger to where Dallet, Cenn and Korator waited for the runners to carry them back to camp with the other wounded. They were directly in the Shardbearer’s path.

Kaladin retrieved his knife from the battalionlord’s skull and struck the butt of the handle against his shield to get his squad’s attention.

“Men, we have a new target.”


End file.
